Seven - A touch of evil
by Pedro Pacheco
Summary: In the aftermath of the movie, Somerset and Mills meet again.


SE7EN

A TOUCH OF EVIL 

Blood.

Sprayed through the walls, the floor, forming bizarre patterns. The detectives try to "read" the crime scene using these patterns: where the victim was when she was murdered; where was the killer standing, in front of her or behind; etc., etc. 

After some time of doing this, you begin to lose the bigger picture, because of the attention given to the details, the technicalities. You have to be able to focus on them in order to maintain your professional objectivity and perform adequately.

So, you tend to forget that the victims were something other than a bunch of details thrown together. You have to forget their pain, neglect the pity you may feel for them and remain calm and concentrated. At first, it may sound difficult, but it gets progressively easier to do it, because you know that your sanity depends on it.

Blood.

The Forensics guys like to look at their photographs and extrapolate images in the patterns, like they where looking at clouds in the sky:

"Shit, it looks like a cat."

"No way. The way the blood was sprayed made it look like Mickey Mouse."

"Fuck! I wonder if the killer is a Disney fan?"

Big laugh.

Blood.

Detective William Somerset had seen plenty of blood in a lot of crime scenes. This was just another one. When he was in a place like this, he wanted to leave it.

He wanted to stay. He liked to know. He liked to see. He pieced the puzzle together, formed a picture. Solved a case. Big deal.

Bring out the champagne, because we are just hundreds of murders away from a clean desk.

He wanted to leave. He was sick of seeing the evil that lurks in the heart of men. There had to be a better way to earn a living.

However, he chose his job. He remembered seeing the big picture.

He remembered start seeing the details.

Detective Brad Wilkinson was kneeling near the dead woman. Her blood was being photographed. He was looking at her, but he only saw the cuts in her body, the torn clothes, the messed-up hair. Looking for clues.

"Hey, Somerset. Need anything else?" he asked.

"No, Wilkinson. Thanks." Somerset replied.

Wilkinson waved his hand, and the Coroner's deputies brought out a stretcher to cart the corpse away for autopsy.

Somerset finished his inspection, took out some notes. He shoved the notebook in his pocket and stole a glance at his wristwatch.

"Wilkinson, could you wrap this up? I have an appointment."

The younger cop looked at him, a bit surprised:

"Yeah, sure. I'll see you at the precinct." 

"Good afternoon. I would like to see David Mills, please."

The nurse looked him over. Then she took a writing pad and replied:

"Of course. I would like to see your identification."

Somerset flashed her the badge and told her his name. She wrote the information on the pad, then buzzed an orderly.

"You will have to leave your weapon here. I will return it after the visit." She said.

He pulled his .38 revolver from the hip holster and placed it firmly on the counter. A loud thump echoed through the walls of the Hospital. The loudest sound on earth.

The orderly led him to a room. Somerset already knew the way, he had visited Mills once or twice before, but, in the beginning, they kept him sedated, so all he saw was his sleeping form huddled on the bed.

Somerset let his mind enter the labyrinth of memory. 

He saw Mills shoot John Doe.

He saw Tracy's head inside a cardboard box.

He saw them driving Mills away.

The captain made Somerset attend an informal hearing on the John Doe case. Mills wasn't there, of course. He was in the Hospital, still in shock, pumped full of drugs.

John Doe was high media profile. The Mayor had promised swift justice, and they couldn't get much swifter. Doe was D.O.A. .

But police officers aren't vigilantes, they can't blow away a suspect and move on.

So the hearing was summoned. They had to decide what to do.

The orderly opened the door, after he told Somerset that he should call him if he needed anything.

The detective entered Mills' room.

David Mills was sitting on the bed, staring at the wall opposite him. He looked at his visitor, and smiled:

"Hello, Somerset."

"Mills." he replied, as he pulled a chair and sat next the bed.

"Thank you for coming."

"I can see that you are much better." Somerset said. 

The doctor told him, on admission, that David suffered a strong emotional shock and that their priority was to keep him as calm as possible. That would allow him to overcome the situation, as much as he could.

Either that or he would never come back.

"Yeah, I feel better." Mills said.

"You are still on sedatives?"

"Just to sleep. I have a hard time sleeping at night."

The captain said that a compromise would be reached. They couldn't crucify a cop that killed the psycho who cut his wife's head off. But Mills' job wasn't salvageable.

Press conference.

"Today, the suspect identified as John Doe was gunned down by a police officer while trying to escape custody. We can also confirm that he made a sixth victim, whose identification will be withheld until the next of kin are notified."

Somerset looked at Mills, trying to find something to say. Mills seemed calm, much more controlled than he used to be. The drugs kept him that way. But he was definitely improving.

"I won't stay here much more time. The doctor told me that he's thinking of sending me home."

Somerset thought of the crime scene. Mills' home.

Blood.

Tracy's blood. On John Doe. On the walls.

Somerset had been there watching Forensics collect useless evidence. He never saw Tracy's body. Only her head.

"David, you know… They retired you."

Mills didn't react to this.

"They had a hearing. The D.A. dropped murder charges, they went for justifiable cause and temporary insanity."

This is crazy, Somerset thought, maybe I shouldn't be telling him this, he isn't ready to hear it. But he couldn't lie to him. Not to his partner. Not after what they saw.

"But they couldn't save your job." he continued," They gave you full pension."

"Lucky me." Mills said, looking away. 

They were silent for a while, Somerset looking down, Mills staring at the wall.

"Tracy." Mills said." I miss her."

"Yes."

"I would like to see her. God, I would like to see her."

Somerset realized that Mills hadn't seen her body. He made the identification because his partner obviously couldn't at the time. 

For that, Somerset was thankful. He liked Tracy, but his last image of her was of a mutilated body. He didn't like to remember her that way, but the image kept coming to his mind. He was glad to have spared Mills from that burden.

"I dreamt of her," Mills continued, " but not those corny dreams where she would come from above to tell me that everything is fine and that I should move on. I dreamt of us in the past, meeting, getting married, living together…" 

His voice was trailing off, as if he was returning to his dream.

Tears were welling up in his eyes.

Somerset said nothing.

"I dreamt of Mike. Our son. How strong he would be. How beautiful he would be."

Then he looked at Somerset again.

"Then I woke up."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm not. She lives in me, they both live in me. As for John Doe, he is dead. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Somerset warned Mills that the John Doe case wasn't meant for a happy end. But the horrible irony of it all was that Mills made Somerset believe again. Believe in happy endings. Somerset drank from the young man's innocence, from his belief that he could make a difference, that he could change the world. He himself had stopped believing in that a long time ago, but the force of his partner's convictions led him to think that he could also give meaning to his life by giving up on apathy. The world wasn't a beautiful place, but some people made it worth fighting for.

"Well, I guess I better be going." Somerset said, after a while," I'm really glad to see you doing so well."

He rose from his chair, and shook his partner's hand.

Mills' grip was strong, and he smiled again:

"Thank you."

Somerset let go and walked to the door.

"Hey, Somerset."

He turned around and faced Mills.

"The pension, you know… Now I have something to look forward to."

Somerset smiled at him.

William Somerset drove through the streets of the city. Thinking of Mills, thinking of Tracy…

Life moved on, regardless of any personal loss. No innocence was spared, no life touched by evil could be left unscathed. But that was just the way things were. 

As long as we can see the big picture, everything is possible and nothing is without hope.

THE END.

All characters, excluding Brad Wilkinson, the nurse and the orderly, are copyrighted by New Line Productions.


End file.
